Cause we're friends, aren't we?
by notsure2010
Summary: I didn't like the story of the girls' first meeting on the show, so I've been wanting to write something different for awhile now . . . here is the result! Will eventually be rizzles, and the rating may change to M.
1. Chapter 1

To anyone who cares: I don't own these characters.

* * *

Chapter 1

Jane pushed her way through the glass doors of the morgue and found herself standing in front of a dead, completely nude, body. She hadn't visited the autopsy room more than half a dozen times, despite her years of experience with the Boston Police Department, so the sight was a little disconcerting. Here was yet another thing she was going to have to get used to as a homicide detective. Not to mention the smell.

Hearing the clicking of heels on the tile floor coming from across the room, she gratefully looked away from the dead man to discover the source of the sound.

Approaching the autopsy table was Maura Isles, the new Chief Medical Examiner. Jane had heard rumors about her, and it appeared everything she had heard was about to be confirmed. Dr. Isles wore a black skirt with a long silver zipper that stretched from the hem to the waist, where a silk sleeveless top was tucked in. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that swung over her bare shoulders. Darkly lined eyes zeroed in on Jane as she walked across the room, a severe look on her face.

"You shouldn't be in here," Dr. Isles said shortly, while she pulled a sheet up over the dead man's body. "I'm just about to start an autopsy, and I cannot be disturbed while I work." She rested her fingertips on the table and glared at the tall, dark-haired woman who had invaded her workspace.

Jane blinked, surprised that an M.E. would speak to a detective this way. _No wonder they call her the queen of the dead_, she thought to herself. She immediately felt defensive, and her heart beat rapidly, but she tried not to let it show. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware . . ."

Dr. Isles interrupted. "You're the new detective, aren't you? Rizzoli?"

"Yes, ma'am, Detective Jane Rizzoli, Victor 825," responded Jane automatically, slightly flattered that the doctor already knew her name.

The doctor pursed her lips, and Jane felt flushed, wondering if she had gone overboard with "ma'am." The M.E.'s next words refocused her attention quickly, however. "Well, Detective Rizzoli, do you see that yellow light there?" She pointed at a bulb on the wall and waited for Jane's response.

Jane squirmed, feeling like she was back in the academy. She was entirely unsure why this woman was so prickly, but she didn't want to get off on the wrong foot so she swallowed her pride and nodded. "Yes, does that—"

Dr. Isles cut her off swiftly. "That light indicates that I am in the middle of an autopsy and must not be disturbed. I can't have impatient detectives hovering over me when I work, carrying with them potential contaminants and annoying me with useless questions. Luckily, I hadn't yet started with this case, but in the future, I would appreciate it if you would not enter this room unless the green light is on." She gestured toward the bank of lights on the wall.

"Of course, I didn't mean to interrupt your work, Doctor. It won't happen again," Jane responded as politely as possible, but made no move to leave. Not because she was trying to stand her ground, but because she wondered if the queen of the dead was supposed to dismiss her first.

The doctor sighed, and seemed resigned to the fact that she would have to delay her work. "Now, what can I help you with? I hope you aren't looking for results yet, because this case will mostly likely take several hours."

"Actually, I just need a first aid kit, and I was told there was one down here. I messed up my elbow tackling a perp earlier, and it keeps bleeding." Jane held up her arm so the doctor could see the gash across her skin, surrounded by a bright red asphalt burn.

The doctor's face showed sudden concern. "Oh dear, that definitely does need attention," she said, walking around the table to Jane's side and peering at the wound. "I don't think it needs stitches, but I should clean it up and bandage it properly. Come back to my office, please."

Dr. Isles began threading her way through the autopsy tables, and Jane followed behind her, grateful for the sudden change in the doctor's demeanor but still wary of the strange woman.

The M.E. pointed at a chair behind a low table for Jane to sit in, and bustled about pulling supplies out of drawers. "I heard about your encounter with the so-called perp earlier, but the other detectives didn't mention that you had been injured." Maura shook her head slightly and sighed.

"What other detectives?" Jane quickly piped up with a wrinkled brow, wondering who had been talking about her.

"Crowe and Masters, I believe. They seemed to find it inordinately amusing that you had to walk a nude man in handcuffs into the precinct. A man who was apparently nude when you tackled him, and received this injury," Dr. Isles said as she took hold of the detective's arm and began probing the wound.

Jane winced but then set her jaw, not wanting to show any weakness in front of this woman. "Yeah, well, at least I got the guy. I probably should have found him something to wear before I brought him in, but my partner said it was going to take too much time. His shirt covered everything anyway—well, almost everything," Jane snorted.

Dr. Isles suddenly stopped what she was doing and stepped back, looking at Jane again with severity. "Are you telling me that you approve of this sort of hazing ritual? I understand that these sorts of things are common in male-dominated professions, but I had hoped they would treat the first woman to join their ranks with a little more respect." The doctor shook her head and sighed while returning to her task, pulling out a tiny stone from Jane's arm with tweezers.

Jane's features betrayed her confusion. "What? What do you mean, hazing?"

The doctor straightened again, turning to pick up a bottle of antiseptic. "From the way the detectives were talking it sounded as though they had set the whole thing up just to see how you would react. It's rather barbaric, really, but I understand that it's typical male behavior."

"Shit!" Jane growled as the doctor swabbed her wound with antiseptic at the same time as she realized just what had happened with her supposed arrest just a few short hours ago. After the sting in her arm subsided, and hoping that the pricking feeling in her eyes wasn't going to develop into actual tears, she said through clenched teeth, "Dr. Isles, could you tell me exactly what Crowe and Masters said?" She blew out a frustrated breath.

The M.E. finished taping the bandage on Jane's arm and stared at a point just over Jane's shoulder as she recalled the conversation she had heard in the hallway. "Crowe said that he had gotten a buddy of his to wear some sort of compromised clothing—basketball shorts, I think—that would rip off. Then he and your partner—Detective Korsak, right?—got you to believe that he was a suspect in your case so you would chase him down and tackle him."

"Fuck!" Jane slammed her fist down onto the table, making the doctor's instruments rattle, and Maura jumped. "Sorry, Dr. Isles, but . . . just . . . fuck! I can't believe I fell for it! Getting me to cuff a naked guy—I had my knee halfway up his naked ass getting the cuffs on him, and they were all having a good laugh about it . . . fuck!" Jane slammed the table again, then sat down heavily and put her head in her hands.

Dr. Isles stood stock still, unsure of what to do. "I'm sorry, detective; I really thought you knew . . . should I not have told you?" The doctor looked genuinely concerned. She twisted the ring on her finger, then reached out as though she might pat Jane's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. At the last second she lost her nerve and pulled her hand back.

A few heartbeats later Jane sat up and sucked in a shaky breath. "No, I'm glad you told me." She stared absently at the walls of Maura's office, biting the corner of her lip. "At least now the joke's over and I won't make an even bigger ass out of myself." She stood up, wiping her palms on her pants, pulling herself together. "Sorry I disturbed your autopsy, Dr. Isles. And thanks for the bandage."

Jane took a step toward the door before the M.E. stopped her. "Detective, wait." Jane turned to look at the doctor again. It seemed the queen of the dead had disappeared, leaving a rather vulnerable looking woman in her place. Twisting her ring again, the doctor looked pained. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"It's okay—I can handle it." Jane's face softened, and she gave a weak smile before turning to leave again.

Once again, Maura stopped her. "I hear a lot of things, you know—when the detectives think I'm not listening."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Jane rested against the door, halfway out of the room but suddenly interested.

"I know Korsak is happy to have you as his new partner—despite the role he played in today's unfortunate incident. I heard him talking to another officer about it, and although I find it difficult to detect sarcasm in some instances, I am fairly certain that he was completely sincere in this case." Dr. Isles nodded vigorously to punctuate her point.

A genuine smile appeared on Jane's face, as well as a hint of color in her cheeks. "Thanks doc, that's really nice to hear. I'm going to have to figure out a way to get him back for this, but I think we'll get along as partners okay." She looked down and absently kicked at the door with her boot before turning to leave again.

"But . . . " The ME took a step forward to follow her, and Jane stopped again, waiting for this strange women to sputter out whatever it was she wanted to say.

"I think it's awful what they did to you, and since we're both new and we're both women, we ought to stick together, don't you think? Show these men a thing or two? Or, at least be . . . friends?"

Jane watched an awkward smile appear on the doctor's face before she responded, "Yeah, we should definitely be friends." She was surprised to realize that she actually meant it.

They walked back out into the autopsy room, Maura stopping at the table behind the dead man while Jane strode toward the door. This time, she was the one who turned back to lengthen the conversation yet again.

"Wait—Dr. Isles," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "if you're so concerned about us sticking together as women, why did you bite my head off when I came in here and give me that speech about the damn yellow light? Did those guys put you up to it? Get you to act like the queen of the dead just to make me look like an ass?" Jane's tone became increasingly accusatory and her voice rose.

Maura looked genuinely shocked. "No!" Her face hardened, and the features of the queen of the dead reappeared, but only briefly, before she tore her eyes away from the angry detective's and looked at the floor.

"I _do_ hate to be disturbed when I'm doing an autopsy—and I just wanted to be clear about that. But I didn't mean to be so wrong-footed about it."

Maura looked up again before continuing. "I'm kind of awkward around people. I guess that's why they call me the queen of the dead."

"No kidding," said Jane flatly.

Maura looked stricken, and Jane felt her heart sink. "I'm sorry—they really shouldn't call you that."

"No, it's okay," said Maura, taking a shaky breath. "My therapist says I should just tell people that I have a hard time with personal interactions. I really am more comfortable with the dead than the living, you see, but I'm trying to change that." Maura looked up with sincerity in her eyes.

The two women held each other's gaze for a brief moment before they both looked away, slightly embarrassed. Jane was the first to recover.

"Okay, that's cool. I'll try not to bust in on any more autopsies, and you can try to relax a little, okay?

Maura beamed. "Yes, relax. I can do that." She let out a long breath, and then a nervous chuckle. "Well, it was nice to meet you, detective. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too. And you can call me Jane, Maura. 'Cause we're friends, aren't we?"

"Absolutely." Maura smiled and nodded as the detective disappeared down the hall. The grin was still on her face as she changed into scrubs, prepared her instruments, and finally picked up her scalpel to start her work.

* * *

A/N: I'm really not sure where I'm going with this, but it will definitely lead to rizzles, albeit slowly. I get frustrated with the way the show's writers (and JT?) deal with Maura's character. Jane's character is fairly consistent, but Maura is all over the place, so here is my attempt to explain/fix/explore that. Let me know if you are interested in the idea!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have no idea how crime scenes or autopsies work. I'm basically just pulling stuff out of my ass as far as that goes. I don't pretend to be a real writer—I'm just trying to figure out these characters.**

Chapter 2

Boston was supposed to be a fresh start.

After years of telling herself that she was used to being alone and that she needed to focus on her career anyway, Maura Isles was fed up.

Fed up with evenings spent with only a book and a glass of red wine.

Fed up with giving in to dates with men who she knew were only interested in her for sex.

Fed up with doing everything alone.

Maura Isles, the woman who had been working toward becoming first-rate, world-renowned medical examiner since the age of six, had finally decided that a career wasn't enough. She wanted a _life_.

So she had moved back to Boston, the city she had grown up in, to settle down. To look for friends, maybe even family. People she could call her own.

Two months on the job, and all she had done was earn the nickname "queen of the dead." And the first time she met the only other woman in the department—Jane Rizzoli—she acted like a crazy person, first berating the newly minted detective for not following proper procedure and then offering a lame invitation for friendship thirty seconds later.

Well, not thirty seconds exactly. _More like seven minutes_, she thought, precise even in her own internal monologue. But still.

And then she had literally admitted that she was a crazy person by blurting out that she was in therapy. Even the socially awkward, relationship-challenged Dr. Maura Isles knew that wasn't the way to win friends.

She resolved to do better.

* * *

On a Tuesday morning, Maura strode into the seedy apartment building that contained, according to the call from dispatch, Boston's latest murder victim. Taking in the scene, she immediately noticed Jane squatting near the body, jotting down notes in a notepad. Maura silently hoped that she would make a better impression this time.

"Getting started without me, detective?" said Maura as she entered the room. She had hoped her tone was light, but apparently she was wrong.

Jane looked up with a jerk, as though she had been caught doing something illicit. Hastily, and somewhat clumsily, she straightened up to her full height. "I was just looking—I didn't touch anything," she blurted out defensively.

Hoping to reassure Jane, Maura quickly replied, "I didn't mean to imply that you had." She looked around the room, at detectives Korsak and Crowe who had also been called to the scene. "I'm sure the other detectives have warned you about the lectures they all received from me last month about inadvertent crime scene contamination." She smiled awkwardly, and then realized she was holding up her right index finger like a teacher instructing a six-year-old on proper lunchroom etiquette. She quickly lowered her hand, but it seemed the damage had already been done.

The two men didn't say anything in response to Maura's scolding, and a heavy silence hung over the room. The sound of the crime scene tech snapping pictures around the room had never seemed so loud.

Finally, detective Korsak spoke. "None of us have disturbed the body, Dr. Isles, so you can go ahead and start processing." He turned away then, giving instructions to a uniformed officer and walking out of the room.

Maura cringed inwardly, and looked at Jane, embarrassed. She wasn't even sure what she had said that was so wrong. The detective glanced up, but then took the opportunity to scribble down a few more notes.

It was Crowe who clued her in, when in a sneering voice he asked, "Dr. Isles, I don't want another lecture from you, but is it okay if I look for prints over here on this window?" He made an exaggerated gesture toward the south wall. "And Rizzoli can start processing the other end of the room?"

Maura swallowed, and waited a beat before answering. "Of course, Detective Crowe, I won't presume to tell you how to do your job if you won't tell me how to do mine." Satisfied with this response, Maura looked to Jane again, but if she was hoping for support she didn't get it. The detective avoided her eyes and moved to the window at the north end of the room.

Crowe made a snorting sound and left her to her work.

Thirty minutes later, Korsak returned and began asking questions. He first had a brief conversation with his detectives before turning to the body once again.

"Do you have any information for us, Dr. Isles?"

"The victim is male, approximately fifty years old, and has been shot in the neck," said Maura, stating the obvious.

Patiently, Korsak tried again. "Do you have any information that might help us in our investigation? The caliber of the bullet, for example?"

Maura sighed, and repeated the line that she had been giving to detectives for nearly a decade as a medical examiner. "I can't give you more information until I've completed the autopsy, detective Korsak." She turned to her clipboard.

Crowe took the opportunity to butt in and exclaimed, "C'mon, Korsak, it's obviously a .22—let's pack this up and get out of here."

"No, detective, I can't say that it's a .22-caliber bullet conclusively—" interjected Maura, before the hotheaded detective cut her off.

"Yeah, it's a .22. Nothing else is going to leave a hole that small!" he shouted, jabbing his index finger at the wound. "Do you think I haven't seen a bullet hole like this before?"

"Of course not, it's just that the neck muscles are very tricky, you see. It's possible that the muscles have contracted, making the wound seem smaller than it really is." Maura began probing at the wound with a gloved finger, while Crowe let out an exasperated snort.

"Whatever, doc," he groaned. "A little help here, Korsak? Doesn't it look like a .22 to you?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Wait, I think I feel something . . ." Maura's hands had moved to the back of the victim's neck. "Korsak, can you help me turn him a bit?"

The detective bent down, but Maura stopped him. "Gloves?" Korsak let out an involuntary sigh, and pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. After snapping them on, he and the doctor gently rolled the body.

"Yes, the bullet is still here, embedded in the carpet underneath the shoulder." She motioned to the officer with the camera, who took pictures. After carefully measuring the wound, she extracted the bullet with her fingers and held it up to the light.

"9 millimeter," grumbled Korsak as soon as he saw it.

"You see, Detective, it's better not to make snap judgments," quipped Maura as she dropped the bullet into an evidence bag and straightened up.

Crowe looked as though he might explode. "The bullet was there the whole time? You could have told us that, like, an hour ago!"

"I'm only following protocol, detective," replied Maura coolly. "I would think you would be grateful to have the correct weapon."

Korsak responded before Crowe could do any more damage. "Thanks for your help, Dr. Isles. You'll let us know the complete results of your autopsy as soon as possible?"

"Of course," replied Maura, as the two men walked out of the room.

Jane hadn't said anything during the entire exchange, and she followed her colleagues out the door without a further word.

This was the sort of crime scene interaction Maura was used to—after all, it was the medical examiner's job to keep the detectives from going off on wild goose chases, but somehow it had seemed worse because Jane had been there. She had done everything right, as far as procedure went, but somehow everything else was wrong.

Not for the first time, Maura wondered if she was better off without friends anyway.

* * *

Jane Rizzoli had wanted to be a homicide detective for so long that she couldn't remember even considering any other profession. So when she finally got the job, there was no question that she would be successful. There were no other options.

As it turned out though, the job was hard.

Hard because she was the first and only woman in the department. Hard because her friendly colleagues were testing her mettle while the unfriendlies were just jackasses. Hard because she never got enough sleep and the only meals she ate came from a vending machine.

Jane's attitude was "fake it 'til you make it," all the way. Strapping on her gun and badge every morning, she swaggered into the office, interview rooms, and crime scenes with every ounce of confidence she could muster, whether it was real or improvised. She turned on the charm when the situation called for it, but was capable of breaking a chair over a perp's head too. She even attacked her piles of paperwork with gusto.

Once Jane had dated a guy who, in a fit of jealousy, had accused her of wanting to be the center of attention all the time. "How can I compete when you walk into a room and suddenly everyone only has eyes for you? You're like a force of nature!" he had spit out in the middle of an argument.

Jane learned two things from this. First, not to date this guy, or any of the other insecure assholes like him. Second, she _wanted_ to be a force of nature. She wanted to be the center of attention—at least when it came to her job. When she entered a room, she wanted people to stand up and take notice.

She _knew_ she could do this job, and do it as well if not better than anyone else. And if she wasn't going to let a little hazing, a little ribbing from Korsak, and the activities of the entire population of murderous Bostonians get in her way, then she certainly wasn't going to cave to the exasperating demands of the medical examiner that everyone called the queen of the dead.

* * *

Maura had told her to come to the morgue to discuss the autopsy results on their latest victim at 2:30. She had tried to get there on time—she really had. But homicide detectives don't sit in a cubicle all day and when a witness is crying his way through an interview you can't just say _stop_, I have to go or the medical examiner will be mad at me. Everyone understood that. God, even her _mother_ understood that.

So Jane was late. Forty-eight minutes late, to be exact. Rushing down the hall, she skidded to a stop in front of the morgue's glass doors. The yellow light was on, and she cursed inwardly.

Maura looked up from the body she was examining to catch Jane's eye, shake her head, and look back down again. Giving no sign that Jane's appearance meant anything to her, she continued her work, pulling some slimy organ out of the body and dropping it on a scale. After marking her chart, she pantomimed to Jane, pointing at her watch.

Jane mouthed, "I know, I'm sorry," and gave the M.E. a pained look. Maura shook her head again, and then pointed somewhere to her right, Jane's left. At the table outside the door was a complete set of autopsy gear—gown, gloves, glasses. Jane took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Does she have to follow every goddamn rule?_

Dramatically, and with more than one exaggerated eye roll that Maura was sure to catch despite being in the next room, Jane pulled on the clothing. Setting the glasses on her nose, she mouthed, "okay?" and reached for the door handle.

But Maura wasn't ready. She held up one finger, and mouthed back, "wait."

Jane stood in front of the door, arms folded in front of her. Korsak was upstairs waiting for Maura's information, and he would blame Jane if he didn't get it soon. But there was no hurrying this woman—no way, no how. The M.E. kept working, completely ignoring the detective in the hallway with steam coming out of her ears.

Waiting, Jane wondered how she was going to deal with this situation. Despite the fact that they were supposedly friends—sisters-in-arms in a male-dominated work environment—Maura seemed to be giving her no breaks whatsoever. She followed every rule meticulously, and she worked with so much precision that Jane, who tended to go with her gut and hope things would turn out all right, was frequently exasperated.

The woman refused to guess about anything. Blood wasn't blood, it was a reddish-brown stain. Semen was an undetermined bodily fluid. She would tell Jane in excruciating detail the measurements of every scrape and wound, but never allowed for the least bit of speculation about what caused the wound. Not until she was absolutely sure about every detail in her report would she provide any findings whatsoever.

Jane appreciated the fact that the doctor was good at her job—there was no question about that. But she didn't seem to have the knack for working in the real world, outside of the lab. She was clearly uncomfortable with most living people, and had no idea how to create a real, working relationship with the detectives in the department.

Maura continued to bend over her work, poking and prodding into the man's guts and periodically making notes. She seemed so absorbed in the activity Jane wondered if she had forgotten that she was even there. Any normal person would have been unnerved by the presence of a gun-wearing detective looming over her, shooting daggers from her eyes.

Suddenly, Jane had a flash of insight. _Maura Isles is not a normal person_. Instead of becoming exasperated by the M.E., grating and grinding against her quirks and routines like all of the other detectives, she just had to insert herself into them. Once she had gained Maura's trust, she could teach her the ins and outs of a working relationship, and then use that relationship to her advantage.

It was a way in. No one on the squad was getting along well with the M.E., but there was no chance such a talented doctor would be transferred or let go. So if Jane could get Maura on her side, she'd be the most formidable detective at Boston PD, hands down. For as long as that relationship lasted.

But how to penetrate the mighty fortress that was Dr. Maura Isles?

_Turn on the charm, Rizzoli. _

In an instant, she had the situation sized up and was plotting a course of action. Maura was no different from the hundreds of witnesses, victims, and criminals she had figured out how to crack. From just the few interactions they had had, Jane could tell that the doctor was clearly socially awkward and almost certainly had few friends. Despite the rigid façade of self-sufficiency she put up, she was probably soft as butter on the inside, lonely and desperate for attention. Especially if that attention was coming from a non-threatening source such as herself. All Jane had to do was charm the pants, or skirt, rather, off of her.

The minutes ticked by, but Jane forced herself to be patient. She stood at attention, watching and waiting. Finally, Maura signaled her to come in.

But Jane waited, until Maura was forced to look at her questioningly.

Jane pointed at the yellow light, keeping a straight face. _Two can play at this game_.

Now it was Maura's turn to roll her eyes. She walked to the panel at the desk and flipped the switches, and the green light appeared. When she turned back to the door, she found Jane grinning at her, mischief in her eyes. Maura tried to keep her face serious, but found she was powerless to resist a thousand-watt Rizzoli smile. Despite her best efforts, Maura's face broke into a smile as well, and she even let out a little chuckle—music to Jane's ears, as she finally entered the room with a light heart and a spring in her step.

"What 'cha got for me, Maura?" said Jane, rocking on her heels, "Anything good?"

"Well, Jane, I did in fact find something very interesting. Would you like to know what I discovered in the victim's chest cavity?"

"Why yes, Dr. Isles, I believe I would," responded Jane playfully.

Maura searched Jane's face for signs that she was being made fun of, but the dark brown eyes before her betrayed nothing untoward, so she launched into a detailed explanation of her autopsy results.

Jane listened intently.

_If she thinks I like her, I'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Um, Rizzoli? I think someone's here to see you."

Jane turned away from her computer and looked at Korsak, who was pointing at a woman weaving her way through desks and officers at the far end of the room.

"Oh no," groaned Jane, "How did she get in here?" Quickly, the detective stood up, just as her mother arrived at her desk.

"Janey! This is your new office? How can you have been working here for three months and this is the first time I see where you work?" Angela Rizzoli's voice carried throughout the room; Jane could feel at least a dozen pairs of eyes boring through her.

"Because, Ma, most people don't invite their _mothers_ into the _homicide_ department! What are you doing here?" Jane exclaimed through clenched teeth.

Angela, completely unfazed by her daughter's embarrassment, pulled a tupperware container from her purse. "I brought you a snack—I know how you forget to eat sometimes." She handed the container to Jane and then turned to Korsak and stuck out her hand. "Hello, I'm Jane's mother, Angela."

Korsak took the proffered hand with a twinkle in his eye. "Nice to meet you, Angela. I'm Jane's partner, Vince Korsak."

"Oh! Detective Korsak, I've heard so much about you! Thank you for being so good to my daughter."

"Ma! Not now!" muttered Jane, hoping to God that as few people as possible had heard that. She shoved the tupperware into a desk drawer.

"How nice of you to want to see where your daughter works," continued Korsak smoothly, "Why don't you have Jane take you downstairs for a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, coffee," breathed Jane, grateful to Korsak for providing a way out. Before Angela could get another word in, Jane had grabbed her mother by the elbow and steered her back toward the elevator. Once they were safely inside, Jane exploded.

"Ma, you _cannot_ just come waltzing into the squad room like that! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

"Oh, Jane, don't be so dramatic. I told the nice young officer at the desk who I was and he let me right in. It's not like you work at NASA or something."

"It doesn't matter—I have to work with these people. I'm the only woman in the department and I can't have people thinking I need my mother around to feed me!" The elevator reached the ground floor, but Jane smashed her palm into the "door closed" button.

"Promise me you won't just show up here again like this, okay?" Jane pleaded with her mother.

"Okay, okay, I promise."

Jane could tell from the smirk on her mother's face that she had no intention of keeping that promise, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She released the button and the elevator doors opened. "At least tell me when you're coming next time? So I can be prepared for the embarrassment? And for heaven's sake don't bring any more tupperware."

"You love my peanut butter and fluff sandwiches!" Angela glared briefly at her daughter before breaking into a smile as they made their way to the café counter. "Okay, I'll try to be more discreet next time," she conceded, and Jane breathed a sigh of relief.

On their way to a table with steaming cups of coffee a few minutes later, Angela continued interrogating her daughter about her new work environment.

"So, do you like it here? Are you getting enough to eat? You look too thin."

Jane sighed as she sat down and began dumping liberal amounts of sugar into her coffee cup. "I'm fine, ma. I'm eating fine, I'm sleeping fine, and before you can ask, no, I haven't met any nice men yet."

Angela frowned. "I wasn't going to ask that."

"Yes, you were," smirked Jane before taking a sip of coffee.

"Well, would it kill you just to _look_ for a nice man—"

"Maaaaaa," groaned Jane, rolling her eyes, and Angela surrendered with a small smile. Then, she lowered her voice to ask a more serious question.

"Do the guys up there really give you a hard time . . . you know, because you're a woman?"

Jane paused, wondering exactly how to answer. "No, not really," she began. "I mean, they aren't used to dealing with women, so sometimes it's a little awkward but I'm figuring out how to make it work."

Angela beamed. "That's my girl."

Jane continued. "We actually have a new medical examiner, Maura Isles, and she's been having a lot more trouble than I have. Not because she's a woman, but because she's, well, kind of weird."

"What do you mean?" Angela stirred her coffee and took a sip.

"Well, she's pretty awkward socially. She's a real stickler for rules, and she always seems to say the wrong things. She doesn't get along with any of the other detectives, like, at all."

"Oh, the poor thing! You should help her, Janey. I'm sure she just needs a friend."

"Yeah, I actually thought of that, ma, believe it or not." Jane leaned forward in her chair, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial pitch, in case anyone was listening. "I figured if we could be friends, then it might help me out on cases. Give me a bit of advantage over the other guys."

Angela sat back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Or, heaven forbid, you might actually make a _friend_, Jane. Be _nice_ to someone. Do you have to think about work all the time? Does everything have to have an ulterior motive for you? If you aren't going to bother with a boyfriend, shouldn't you at least have a _life_? Do you actually like this woman, or are you just using her?"

"Ma!" Jane looked genuinely shocked. "I'm not just _using_ her." Jane felt a slight flush creep up her cheeks, knowing that sometimes it did feel like she was using Maura. Or at least, it had until she'd started to get to know her. "I mean, yeah, there's stuff about her that I like."

"Like what?"

"Like . . . she's really smart." Jane fidgeted in her chair, feeling slightly unnerved. How to describe Maura? "Amazingly smart. You just have to know the right way to talk to her. I think she's really sincere most of the time, but she just comes off as a little condescending. Plus she wears really fancy clothes and shoes and sh . . . um, stuff, and I think that puts everyone off a little. But if you get used to her, she's not so bad."

"Not so bad? Gee, that's nice to say about someone who is amazingly smart."

Jane threw up her hands. "Well, I don't know how to explain it! She's . . . funny. In a really quirky, goofy way. I don't know," sighed Jane. "I just try to laugh and joke with her and that seems to put her at ease, and when she relaxes she's much more . . . normal. And she's fun to talk to. I think we could actually be friends—real friends, you know?"

Suddenly, Angela sat up straight. "I know! You could invite her over to the house for dinner! I could invite the Salernos! I know you never got along with their son but maybe Dr. Isles might—"

"No, ma—we aren't that good of friends yet! I don't want to introduce her to the entire Rizzoli clan or my plan might backfire." Jane gave her mother a sly look. "You know how crazy we are." Angela just laughed.

"Besides," continued Jane, "she's way too smart and pretty for Bobby Salerno."

"Oh, she's out of his league, huh?"

"Yeah, waaaaaay out of his league. Everybody always talks about how beautiful she is. Somehow she spends three hours processing a body at a crime scene and her hair still looks perfect—like she's ready to do a photo shoot. I don't know how she does it." Jane snorted, and ran a hand through her own unruly curls.

"You're not jealous, are you honey? If you would just spend a little more time—"

Jane cut her mother off. "No, we aren't going to talk about my hair! Or my wardrobe!"

Angela huffed, but changed the subject. "Well, what have you two been up to? Do you go out?"

Jane looked wary, wondering if her mother was implying something. Was it weird that she was admitting to her mother that she was trying to be friends with someone? With a woman? A woman she had just admitted was beautiful? Did her mother think that they were . . . dating, or something? Nothing about her mother's features betrayed anything suspicious though, so she answered honestly. "Nah, we mostly just hang out at work, and we've been to lunch a few times. Once I went over to her house and we watched TV and had a few beers. She has a really nice place and about a million channels. I think she comes from money." Jane drained the last of her coffee.

"And all you do is sit around a drink beer? You should show her around Boston, have some fun!"

"She's _from_ Boston, I don't need to show her around. And I drank beer, and she had wine." Jane twirled the empty paper cup in her hands. "I don't really know what girlfriends do—I've never really . . ."

"Had time to make friends before?" Angela shook her head at her daughter, and then reached out and took her hand. "I'm sure you're doing fine. Just have fun! It's not like you're dating her or anything. What's there to be nervous about?"

Jane snorted, but felt something akin to relief wash over her. Maybe it wasn't so weird that she wanted to be friends with Maura. "Yeah, I knew you'd get back around to dating eventually."

"Nope—I'm done dropping hints. If you want to waste your life as a brilliant-yet-single homicide detective, that's none of my concern." Angela gave an exaggerated sigh, and stood up from the table. "Well, I'd better let you get back to work. Good luck with your friend, sweetie."

"Thanks, ma. And thanks for the coffee."

Angela shrugged, but then turned and laid a hand on her daughter's arm. "I really am proud of you, Janey. You know that, right?"

Jane smiled—a real, genuine smile. "Yeah, I know. Just don't go spreading it around the station, okay?"

Angela's eyes sparkled as she walked out of the café. "When did I ever do that?"

* * *

Maura sat on her couch, legs folded beneath her. She was ostensibly reading, but she was having a little trouble concentrating, so she closed the book and let it fall into her lap. It had been a couple of weeks since Jane had showed up at her door carrying bottles of beer and a bag of chips, but every night since then Maura had half expected her to come back.

Half hoped, maybe?

It was strange, really—this friendship that had sprung up between them. One minute Jane had seemed just as foreign to her as any other colleague, and then, somehow, they were friends. Jane seemed to find her amusing more than anything else, and she liked that feeling.

She liked most of the feelings she had when she was around Jane.

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought they were dating.

She shook off that thought though, and tried to force herself to think of something else. Anything besides the fact that she was wishing with all her heart that the doorbell would ring. She picked up her book again, and forced her eyes to follow the words on the page.

She made it through a couple of paragraphs before letting the book fall closed again. She didn't want to _read_, she wanted to_ talk_. It was fun to talk to Jane. After all, she spent most of her time alone, either working in the lab or doing paperwork and reports in her office. Wasn't it normal that she would want some conversation with a real, live human? Even if Jane did have a tendency to talk about sports just a little too much?

_This is silly_, she thought to herself. If she and Jane were friends, was it really so odd if they wanted to spend time together? Why did she have to wait for Jane to initiate everything? She swung her legs off the couch, throwing off the blanket she had cuddled under for most of the evening.

As her feet hit the floor, the doorbell rang. Maura's heart thumped in her chest, and she felt a flush rising from her chest to her cheeks. Forcing herself to calm down, she stood and quickly arranged the blanket on the couch and then walked to the door, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from her yoga pants.

Despite talking two deep, calming breaths before opening the door, her heart was racing again when Jane stood before her, looking tired and slightly—rumpled.

"Hey, Maura—sorry for just dropping by again—but I wondered if you wouldn't mind some company tonight?"

"Of course I don't mind—is everything all right?" Maura's eyes flashed to Jane's wrinkled suit.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just been a long couple of days. I came straight from work, so sorry I didn't change."

"Oh, that's no problem. Come in and sit down." Maura led Jane into the living room, where the detective sank into the couch with a groan.

"Mmmm," she moaned, leaning her head back and rubbing her eyes. "This is an awesome couch."

Maura sat primly on the cushion next to Jane, hands in her lap. "Really? You think so? I ordered it from a little shop in New York and I've always found it comfortable but I thought maybe you'd prefer something more . . ." Maura paused, wishing she had chosen her words more carefully.

Jane finished the sentence for her. "Something more like a fake leather barcalounger?" Maura looked stricken, but Jane just laughed. "You're right, I don't have expensive tastes, I just like anything soft and . . . not plastic. My mom always kept a plastic cover on our couch and I hated it."

"Really? People actually do that?" Maura wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Yep. Well, my mom did, anyway. But I'm so tired I think even that couch would be fine tonight." Jane closed her eyes again, until she was shocked back into coherence by Maura suddenly jumping up.

"Oh! I bought some beer, if you'd like one? It's that same brand you brought over the other night . . ." Maura was halfway to the kitchen before Jane had a chance to answer. She came back with two cold beers and a bottle opener.

"You bought beer for me?" Jane's smiled, her eyes betraying a faint hint of amusement.

Maura felt herself blush. Did that make her look pathetic, buying beer for someone just on the off chance they decided to visit? "Well," she began to explain, "I felt bad that I didn't try it when you were here before, since I really should be more open to new things, and so I bought more. Now is the perfect time to try it." She popped open the bottles and handed one to Jane.

The detective sat up and took the bottle, catching Maura's eye in the process. "Thanks, that's really nice of you. Cheers," she added, clinking her bottle against the doctor's. They both took sips—well, Maura took a sip, and Jane took a long draw.

Maura's face brightened. "Oh! That's delicious!"

"See, I told you!" Jane laughed, and sunk back into the couch. Maura settled next to her, so close their arms nearly touched. They both stared up at the ceiling.

Jane broke the brief silence that had settled over them. "So, speaking of my mother, guess who showed up at work today?"

"Your mother visited you at work?"

"Yep. I'm kind of glad you hadn't heard about it yet. I think people will probably be gossiping about it for weeks."

"Why? What did she do?"

"Oh, nothing, really. She was just her usual, loud, oblivious self. Would you want your mother showing up unannounced at work?"

Maura pondered this for a moment. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."

"Anyway, I told her about you, and—"

"You told her about me?" Maura turned her head toward Jane with a questioning look on her face.

"Yeah, of course!" Jane sputtered. "She asked if I had, you know, made any friends at work, and I told her about you. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, of course, I just—well, it doesn't matter. Go on—what were you going to say?" Maura looked slightly flustered, and returned her gaze to the ceiling while she took another sip of beer.

"Well, she asked if we'd been going, um . . . going out and doing stuff. Like she didn't know you were from Boston and she thought I should be showing you the sights, I guess."

"And you told her I was dying to walk the Freedom Trail?"

Jane laughed. "Maura Isles, is that sarcasm?" Both women giggled, before Jane continued. "Yeah, no—can you imagine? You in your little dresses and heels?"

Maura feigned offense. "I do have more walking-appropriate clothing, Jane."

"I'm sure you do. I've just never seen you wear any."

"What?" sputtered Maura, "I'm wearing perfectly comfortable, non-designer clothing right this minute, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I noticed, miss fashionista. I'll bet those yoga pants didn't come from Target though."

Maura gasped. "Of course not! But still."

"Anyway, if you'll let me get a word in, doctor," Jane rolled her eyes dramatically, "what I was trying to say is that I feel kind of bad that we haven't really done anything—you know, fun."

"What do you mean, fun?"

"I mean—ugh, I don't know what I mean." Jane sat up, setting her beer on the table.

While she waited for Jane to explain, Maura slid a coaster under Jane's beer.

"Really, Maura?" Jane gaped at the doctor. "I'm trying to tell you something!"

Maura bit her lip. "Sorry, it's just . . ." She stopped herself from explaining how special the wood in this particular coffee table was. "Go on, I'm sorry."

Jane took another deep breath. "I don't know how to be friends—with a girl, I mean. I hang out with guys on the force, and we drink beer and throw darts and stuff. I don't know what I'm supposed to, you know, _do_, with you. Are we supposed to go out and go shopping or something? Or get our nails done?"

Maura thought for a moment. "Sometime, if you would like to, we could do those things. But can't we do this too?"

Jane wrinkled her brow. "Do what?"

"This! Just sit and talk? I like just talking to you. It's . . . comfortable. I like comfortable." Maura settled back against the couch cushion again, reaching out to pull Jane down beside her.

Jane leaned back in her place next to the doctor, a slow smile spreading across her face as she briefly caught Maura's eye. Feeling a strange shyness come over her, she looked down and said in a low voice, "I like comfortable too. Yeah, we should do this more often."

"Yes," said Maura, absentmindedly rubbing Jane's arm. "We definitely should."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Maura had so been looking forward to Saturday night. They had been talking about it for weeks—their afternoon of French and Italian cooking. The centerpieces included Jane's mother's famous lasagna for the main dish and Maura's French macarons for dessert, but there were other salads, side dishes, and breads on the menu as well.

Strangely enough, thought Maura as she had surveyed the results of her Thursday-evening shopping trip, neither woman had ever suggested that they invite anyone else to share their planned feast. It was supposed to be just the two of them, cooking together in the afternoon and then dining al fresco on Maura's patio in the cool September air.

But now Maura wondered if Jane was even planning on showing up. After the week they'd had, she wondered if she and Jane would ever be friends again.

* * *

It was Jane's first murder case involving a child. She'd seen some awful things in vice, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of a six-year-old boy laid out on Maura's table, his bruised and broken body barely taking up any space on the slab. The medical examiner had waved Jane and Korsak in, and then turned away to make some notes. When she returned her attention to the detectives, the first thing she saw was Jane's stricken face—her normally tan complexion had gone pale, and tears were rapidly filling her eyes.

Maura's face betrayed her concern, and Korsak turned to look at his partner, who was now trying to hide silent tears. With a hand on her shoulder, Korsak said gently, "It's okay, Rizzoli. These cases are always hard. I'll get the report from Dr. Isles—just meet me back upstairs in twenty minutes."

Jane struggled to contain a sob, and then rushed out of the room.

For the next three days, Jane had worked night and day on the case, and Maura had only communicated with her by text and a few brief hallway conversations. Jane seemed to be handling the pressure well though, and she assured Maura that her outburst in the morgue had just been a momentary loss of control.

However, when Jane had come rushing into the morgue on a Thursday morning she seemed anything but in control.

"Maura!" Jane cried, barging through the autopsy suite, knocking instrument trays right and left. When she reached the desk in the back office where the medical examiner was working she thrust a photo in front of Maura's stunned face.

"Look, right there—is that a ring mark? Did a ring make that bruise?" Jane asked excitedly, her voice raw and hoarse.

Maura took the photo out of the detective's hand and peered at it. "A ring? What kind of ring?"

"I don't know what kind of ring, Maura—the round kind! You know, made of metal?" Jane sounded a bit panicked, and she rubbed her forehead. "I think that looks like a ring mark, and one of our suspects wears a big fat ring on his middle left finger. Could that match?"

"I'd have to see the ring, Jane," said Maura after studying the photo again.

"C'mon, Maura! I can't _get_ the ring until you say it looks like a ring mark! Can't you just say it's possible? Even if you're not absolutely sure?"

Maura felt her anxiety level rise. Jane wanted her to lie. Something she would never even consider doing if she and Jane weren't friends.

"I don't know . . ." Maura shook her head, still staring intently at the photo.

"Please," Jane gripped Maura's shoulder, forcing the doctor to look into her pleading eyes, "just this once, can't you make a guess? Can't you do this for me?"

Maura looked away, biting her lip. The image on the photo swam in front of her eyes.

Suddenly, she heard Korsak calling out from the autopsy room. "Rizzoli!"

"In here!" yelled Jane over her shoulder, straightening up and stepping away from Maura.

Korsak came into the office and pointed at the picture. "Well, Dr. Isles, do you see what Rizzoli sees? Could that bruise have been made by a ring?"

Maura sighed. "I really can't tell from the picture. I'll have to look at the body again."

"Okay, let's do that," said Jane quickly, and she turned on her heel to leave the room. Maura and Korsak followed their obviously impatient colleague.

Jane paced while Maura consulted her notes and pulled out the small boy's body from its slot in the wall cooler. "I _know_ the uncle is our guy, Korsak. I can feel it in my gut," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"But if we arrest him without evidence then your gut won't do us any good, Jane," countered Korsak.

"He's right, Jane, you really shouldn't listen to your intestines," interjected Maura as she peered at the body.

Korsak snorted, and Jane reddened. "Oh really, Maura?" she retorted, "Well maybe you should—"

"Rizzoli!" barked Korsak, as Maura looked up and gave Jane a confused look. The detective stopped herself from saying more, gritting her teeth.

Taking a deep breath, Jane spat out one word: "Well?"

Maura looked at Korsak, and then back at the body. Jane turned yet again, and took two paces away from the body and back again. She looked at the medical examiner and mouthed, "please?"

Maura felt her heart sink as she gave the disappointing news. "I see no evidence whatsoever that this bruise was caused by a ring. There are no clean lines, no distinct impressions. I'm sorry, detectives."

Jane's features hardened. Abruptly, she turned and walked out of the room. Korsak thanked the M.E. and followed his partner out.

Since that morning, Maura had received just one text message from Jane: _you were right, it wasn't a ring_. She heard second-hand from another detective in the squad that the boy's brother had been charged with the murder, but still she heard nothing from Jane.

Maura decided to go ahead and start on the macarons. There was no point in wasting the ingredients. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd made them by herself.

She was almost finished sifting the almond flour and the powdered sugar when there was a knock on the back door.

"Come in!" she shouted, seeing Jane's face peeking through the glass panes beside the door. The detective walked in, closed the door behind her and then leaned back against it.

"Hi, Maura." Jane gave a weak, tired smile.

"Hi, Jane." Maura stood awkwardly behind the counter. Eyes to the floor, she added, "I wasn't sure if you were coming."

"I know, I wasn't sure I was coming either." The detective sighed, her eyes downcast as well.

After a moment, Maura set down the sifter and looked up. "I'm glad you're here, though. Really glad."

That was all it took. In two long strides Jane entered the kitchen and took Maura into her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Maura. I'm so sorry."

Maura tensed at first, but then let herself be gathered into Jane's embrace, breathing in her scent, angling her head just right so their cheeks brushed against each other. Relief washed over her, and she tightened her grip on the detective. She never wanted to let go.

That was the moment she knew.

She had been barreling toward this realization for weeks, knowing that her feelings for Jane were growing stronger and stronger but pushing away what that really meant. Now, in Jane's arms, she gave in.

Heart beating wildly, she pulled back slightly, keeping her hands around Jane's waist but looking into her eyes. She searched Jane's face, and for a brief moment she believed Jane was going to kiss her.

Instead, Jane smiled, but looked away, loosening her grip on the doctor's shoulders. Maura mirrored her smile with a tiny laugh, and then stepped back awkwardly. Jane thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels.

"So, do you forgive me?" she asked in a low voice.

"Of course. I know you were just trying to do your job," said Maura without hesitation, "just be more careful the next time your intestines start talking to you."

Jane smirked. "Did you just make a joke, Dr. Isles?"

Maura laughed. "Was it funny?"

"It kind of was!"

"Then it was a joke! Now, come on, we've got a lot of cooking to do." She thrust the sifter at her friend with a smile.

* * *

After the big meal and several glasses of wine, Maura could tell that Jane was exhausted. Although it was still early, the doctor suggested that Jane spend the night in her guest bedroom rather than driving home.

Jane looked at her friend sheepishly. "I kind of thought you would offer . . . I packed an overnight bag so I wouldn't have to sleep in my clothes this time. It's out in the car."

A tingle of excitement running through her, Maura beamed, and then fretted nervously as Jane went to get her bag. Was it possible? Did Jane feel for her the way that she felt for Jane? Maura didn't dare hope, but her heart pounded as she busied herself in the kitchen.

Jane disappeared into the guest room, leaving Maura to wonder what the next step was. She heard water running in the bathroom, but when it shut off there was still no sign of Jane. Maura tip-toed to the door of the bedroom, listening intently, but heard nothing. She paced back to the kitchen, and then decided to change into pajamas herself.

When she returned downstairs, Jane's bedroom door was open a crack. Maura took that as a sign. A good one.

"Jane?" Maura called out softly from the hallway.

Jane's muffled voice came through from the other side of the door. "Come in!"

Maura opened the door to find Jane spread out on the far side of the bed, leaning against the headboard. She had changed into shorts and a soft blue tank top. Maura was momentarily stunned by the amount of Jane's skin on display, and the way her dark hair framed her face. Jane's eyes caught her own and seemed to draw her in, and she felt a little more confident.

Taking a tentative step toward the bed, Maura asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Nope," replied Jane, patting the empty space beside her. "Come sit with me."

Maura complied, settling close to her friend—close enough to feel her body heat, and to smell the intoxicating mixture of shampoo, laundry detergent, and a certain spiciness that was just Jane.

The detective turned toward her so Maura did the same, wondering if the electricity she felt in the air could possibly be real.

After a few moments, Jane broke the silence. "I really am sorry for treating you the way I did, Maura." Lowering her voice, she admitted, "I shouldn't have pressured you like that. It's just—I want to be good at this job, you know?"

Maura patted Jane's arm. "I know. You _are_ good at your job—"

"But I really fucked this one up, Maura. I was dead wrong."

"Everyone makes mistakes sometimes," said Maura lightly. "You're only human."

"Not you. You're perfect."

Maura's heart soared as she watched the tiny smile at the corner of Jane's lips. All she could do was giggle.

"Now, we both know that's not true. You're the only detective I've ever really worked well with, don't you know that?"

Jane smiled, her voice lowered to a whisper. "We do work well together, don't we."

Maura nodded, and her eyes shone. Watching Jane, she saw something cross her features—a certain softness, or tenderness. Once again, Maura wondered if Jane was going to kiss her. She waited, every nerve on fire—anticipating Jane's touch, Jane's fingers on her skin, Jane's mouth on hers. With eyes half closed, she waited.

But the touch never came. Instead, she was jarred from her reverie by Jane's voice, returned to its usual timber.

"Maura—are you falling asleep? Don't you want to go back to your own bed?" Jane's voice was sleepy, and she shifted, rolling onto her back and putting an arm across her eyes.

Embarrassed, Maura sat up. She cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry, I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Awkwardly, she climbed off of the bed and headed for the door. Once there, she turned and said, "Goodnight, Jane."

The detective was close to sleep herself and muttered her own goodnight. Wistfully, Maura turned out the light and left the room.

The next morning, after Jane had left, Maura returned to the guest room to strip the bed and wash the sheets. Pulling back the quilt that Jane had spread carefully across the bed, she caught a hint of the detective's unique scent again. She breathed deeply, and then gave in and fell into the bed, wrapping herself in Jane-scented sheets.

* * *

When Maura returned to work on Monday morning, she had made up her mind. There was no point in nurturing feelings toward a straight friend—and Jane's awkwardness over the weekend seemed to have proved to Maura that she had gotten her signals crossed. Further overtures would only make her more nervous and awkward, and drive Jane away, so she developed a plan to get over her crush.

As it turned out, she had to come up with an entirely different plan.

Everything changed when she decided to run upstairs to the café for a cup of coffee. Normally, she would have texted Jane an invitation to join her, but this time she went alone. The café was nearly empty, but as soon as Maura gave her order a middle-aged woman entered and queued up behind her. Maura smiled pleasantly and was just about to walk away with her coffee when the woman spoke to her.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, pointing at Maura's badge, "you're Dr. Isles?"

"Yes," replied Maura, puzzled and trying to place the woman.

"Well, I'm Angela Rizzoli, Jane's mother!"

"Oh!" Maura smiled and held out her hand. "It's so nice to meet you! Does Jane know you're here?" Maura looked around, half expecting to see the detective walk in, and feeling her heart constrict at the thought.

"I promised I wouldn't go up to her office—she thinks I embarrass her, can you believe that? So I told her to meet me here. She's late, of course. Like her father, that one. Is she always late for you as well?"

Maura laughed. "Sometimes, but I don't mind, her job—"

"I know, I know," interrupted Angela, "her job keeps her busy. But I'm so glad she's found the time to get to know you! When she first told me about you, she said that she just wanted to get on your good side so it would make her job easier. I convinced her that she needed a friend—a real friend. Anyway, I hope she's treating you all right. You seem like such a nice person, from what Jane's said."

Maura stood in stunned silence. Shaking her head, and trying to figure out what she had just heard, she asked, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rizzoli—what did you say? Jane was trying to get on my good side?"

"Oh, call me Angela, sweetie! And yes, Jane told me about your struggles with the other detectives. Your social awkwardness and all that. Frankly, I don't blame you. These detectives aren't exactly easy to get along with. Jane certainly isn't." Angela huffed, and took a sip of her coffee. "She figured she could get on your good side though, since you were both women. Catch more flies with honey, you know."

Maura smiled weakly. Realizing that Jane could walk in at any second, she pulled herself together enough to give her excuses.

"Well, it was really nice to meet you, Angela," Maura said, already making a move toward the door, "but I really have to get back to work." With that she disappeared around the corner and retreated to the sanctuary of the morgue.

* * *

Maura knocked on Jane's door at precisely 8:00 pm. She had seen the detective leave the precinct just over an hour earlier, so she had had plenty of time to change into a t-shirt and shorts and eat a quick dinner before settling into her couch with a beer and the remote. And get nice and comfortable.

Just the way Maura wanted her.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" said Jane when she opened the door. "Did we have plans?"

Maura stepped inside, and Jane closed the door behind her. "No, I just thought I'd stop by. Is that all right?" Maura's voice was low, and she let her eyes rake over Jane's body.

"Sure, that's fine . . ." Jane squirmed under Maura's gaze. "What, do I have something on me?" She looked down, searching for a stain or a bug, knowing full well nothing was there.

"No," said Maura, "you just look really good in that shirt." Her smile was sultry, and she never took her eyes off the detective.

Maura took a step closer to the jittery Jane, who rapidly backed up and then sidestepped the doctor, heading for the kitchen. "Do you want a beer or something?"

Maura reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her close. "No, Jane, I just want you." Reaching up, she gripped the back of Jane's neck and stood on her toes to lightly brush her lips over Jane's.

"I just want you," she repeated, before kissing the shocked detective in earnest.

Even with all of her resolve, Maura was soon lost in the kiss. Jane's scent was overwhelming, as was the taste of her lips. Somehow, both of her hands tangled in Jane's hair, while Jane's went around her waist and pulled their two bodies tightly together.

_She's kissing me back_, thought Maura, struggling within herself. _She's not supposed to kiss me back_.

Then Jane's tongue flicked against her lips and she opened them involuntarily, moaning as Jane tasted her, filling her mouth with hot, sweet wetness and overpowering her senses.

Wrenching her mouth away, she pulled back, breathing heavily. Jane's hands fell away from her hips as she stepped backward. Jane's face was flushed, her lips wet. She stared, open-mouthed, as Maura's features hardened and she remembered why she had come here.

"How does it feel," spat the doctor. "How does it feel, Jane?"

"Maura, I—" Jane blinked, still staring at the woman in front of her. "What was that? What are you—"

"How does it feel to have someone you trust come to your house and use you, Jane? You showed up in my life and pretended to be my friend—for what? So that I would feed you information on cases and you could look good in front of your real friends?"

Jane continued to look confused, and then she buried her face in her hands. Through her fingers, she said in a flat voice, "My mother—you spoke to my mother, didn't you."

"Yes, I did. And she told me your little plan to catch more flies with honey."

Jane came out from behind her hands. "I never said that! Maura, you have to understand, my mother exaggerates—"

"It doesn't matter, Jane! It all makes sense now. I mean, why would anyone be friends with someone like me—the weird, awkward queen of the dead—unless they had an ulterior motive? I don't know who I'm more angry at—you, or myself, for believing your pathetic attempts to make me feel included."

There it was, the look on Jane's beautiful face. Devastation. That's what Maura had come to see.

And having seen it, she turned to go, a sense of emptiness filling her up as her anger drained away.

"I hope you know how it feels, Jane. I hope you actually _enjoyed_ that kiss, because you'll never get another one from me."


End file.
